The Dark Universe Series: Dark Yule
by Mirvena
Summary: So just how do they celebrate Christmas on the Dark Side?


**Dark Universe Series: Dark Yule.**

Just a wee tiny offering from the Dark Side of Tracy Island.

Warnings: You must be getting the hang of this by now. If you've read previous episodes you know this isn't going to be exactly festive. And it's all in the worst possible taste.

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Though I very much doubt anyone else would want them.

Rating, M-ish.

Oh, and this is for Quiller, whose fault it is.

…

**Dark Universe Series: Dark Yule.**

"Go away," Virgil repeated.

"That's what I thought you said. It's three o'clock. How long are you intending to stay there?"

Virgil finally pushed himself wearily up onto one elbow.

"All day," he told Gordon firmly. "All night. Until it isn't Christmas Day any more. I hate Christmas."

"Bah, humbug!" Gordon flung himself into a chair and contemplated his fingernails sulkily. "You're no damn fun, you know that?"

"I refuse to kowtow to the hype and the commercialism. I'm staying in bed."

"What commercialism? We're on a freakin' island. You see any department stores? You see any old fat men in red costumes and beards?"

Virgil's eyes slitted. "You'll find a way. You always do."

"Me?" Gordon was pained. "C'mon, Virg." His mouth puckered. "There's food. Lots of mouth-watering food. Mmmm!"

"Food?" Virgil was plainly disbelieving. "Yesterday there was nothing but month-old salami in the cool room, and today there's food?"

"Alan did a run to the mainland. Had to pick something up for Scott. He outdid himself. There's food."

Virgil's stomach rumbled. "Traitor," he murmured blackly in the direction of his belly.

"You know you want to…go on…"

"Oh, all right. But no carols, no eggnog, and no gifts. I don't do gifts."

"We know," Gordon said patiently. "Go get a shower. Meet you downstairs in twenty."

Still grumbling, Virgil made his way to his bathroom.

Gordon shot out of the room. His brothers were waiting outside the door.

He glanced at John. He really couldn't get used to seeing him with dark hair. Given John's exceedingly pale complexion and startling blue eyes, the overall impression was faintly vampiric. The rest of his brothers, like Virgil, all looked rather haggard. After several nights of exhausting kitten-tending, they'd belatedly realized that if they implemented a rota system, instead of each person getting up to feed his own kitten, they all got more sleep.

Scott had pronounced himself pleased with their new-found team-working skills.

Now he was looking at his watch. He looked at Gordon in grudging admiration. "That's a new record."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Thank you, God. Does that mean we can have gifts now?"

"Course," Gordon slapped him on the back, trying to remember whether he'd bought Alan anything this year.

The little group made its way to the lounge. From somewhere deeper in the house there was a rather wonderful smell emanating. "Back in two ticks," Scott told the others, and darted off in the direction of the kitchen.

"He isn't…?" John .

"Cooking?" Gordon asked.

"As you say…"

"No. Your stomach is safe for now."

"So, who?"

"Tin-Tin brought her father to visit. Turns out he's a fabulous chef," Alan put in. "Scott's confiscated his passport."

"His passport? Since when did anyone need a passport here?"

"Kyrano's Malaysian and doesn't speak a lot of English. Scott's convinced him he's an illegal, and he's going to have to work his passage off the island."

"That's slavery."

"Your point?" Gordon asked, puzzled.

John just looked at them, and shook his head.

They entered the lounge. Under the tree was a rather thin assortment of gifts, some wrapped, some not. Someone had put the kitten basket under there too.

In the corner, Jeff, dressed in a red cardigan and a Santa hat, looked up from his whisky glass. His nose was the same color as his hat. He was rather more worse for wear than he usually was at three in the afternoon. "Ho, ho, h…who are you?" he asked John, puzzled.

"This is John, sir," Gordon said quickly. "Brains' cousin. We told you he was coming, remember?"

Jeff frowned, turned his head to one side and grunted. "Thought you reminded me of someone. I see the resemblance now. What are you doing here, young man?"

"I've come to work with my cousin, sir."

"I know that. But here, now. In my living space. What are you doing here, now? Christmas is for family. You understand?"

John exchanged looks with Gordon, who just shrugged.

Scott tripped in. "All well?"

"Young…" Jeff waved a hand in a wild circular motion.

"John, sir."

"Young John, here, was just leaving. I was explaining to him that Christmas is a family affair."

"I am a newcomer here and unaccustomed to your customs," John said solemnly to Scott. "I shall seek out my cousin _Brains_ and we will celebrate the feast together."

Scott's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Er, okay…_young John_. Catch up with you later. Take some eggnog with you."

John left. Scott's eyes narrowed a little, and he regarded Jeff thoughtfully. "Your glass looks empty. Let's fill you up."

"Mm," Jeff said. "Don't mind if I do."

Scott poured him a quadruple shot of scotch.

"Now, then," Scott rubbed his hands together. "Gordon, follow me, if you would."

The pair disappeared, re-emerging many minutes later with two very heavy looking canvas cases. Each one had a gold bow on the top.

Scott glanced at his father. The Tracy patriarch's head was lolling, and he was snoring very softly. Scott poured another finger or two of scotch, and tipped it gently down his father's throat. Jeff swallowed, muttering a little. Then he went back to snoring.

"Okay," Scott said happily. "Now we can get on with Christmas."

"Uh?" Virgil stopped in the doorway. He pointed. "You told me no fat men in costume."

"He's out cold, Virg. Come on in and have some eggnog. Gordon, fetch Johnnie."

"Stuff it," Virgil said. "You told me no eggnog." He fumbled in his pocket hoping to find a reefer.

A few minutes later, they were all gazing at one another through a haze of marijuana smoke. Scott looked around at his four brothers. "Hey. This is nice. Altogether again. Gift time."

"You told me no gifts," Virgil said unenthusiastically.

Scott ignored him. "Alan, where's Tin-Tin?"

"Sunning herself." Alan crossed to the door and hollered for the Malaysian beauty.

A moment later she entered, pulling a towel casually around her gloriously naked breasts. All five brothers crossed their legs. "Hello, darlings. Present time?"

"Sure thing."

"Lovely. I do adore getting presents, boys."

"Sorry Tin," John told her. "Where I've been they don't sell anything but cigarettes and Hershey Bars."

"I take IOUs," she said stuffily.

"Good thing," Scott said. He reached into his pocket and dug out a very tiny piece of paper. "Here you go."

She looked at the paper and she squealed delightedly and jumped into his arms. He grinned and put her down, trying not to dislodge the towel.

Gordon's cell rang at that moment. "Yo. Mom? Hey. Yes, happy Christmas to you too." He got up and glanced around the others. "Anyone else wanna say hi…?" There were a few head shakes. He wandered to the door.

Scott watched him go sourly. "You know, there are days when I think Gordon is the sanest of you all, and other days when I think he's plain delusional."

Virgil, John, and Alan's eyes met briefly.

"Er, right," Alan said, smartly rubbing his hands together. "Tin-Tin. This is from me."

She ripped into the paper eagerly. "Oh, Alan." She pulled the French silk scarf from its packaging rather slowly. "How thoughtful. This was all the rage last year." She glanced at John.

"Really," John insisted. "No gifts this year. Goes for you guys too."

"Good," Virgil said sourly. "I hate gifts."

"But you bought them anyway," Scott said, "Right?"

Virgil grunted. "I didn't buy anything. I hate shopping. I hate commercialism. I thought it would be more meaningful to make something for each of you." He rummaged under the tree for something scroll shaped. "John."

John pulled off the paper and unfurled the canvas. It was black, entirely black. He contemplated the picture from various angles and concluded that it was identically black no matter which way up he held it. "Er, cool, Virg. What is it, exactly?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "It's space, man. Isn't it obvious? You like space, right?"

Alan frowned. "Doesn't space like have stars and stuff in it?"

"Stars and stuff aren't space. They're the bits in between space. This is _space_. Christ! Here. Here's yours."

"I can hardly contain myself." Alan pulled the wrapping off his canvas. His canvas was black. "And this is…space…again, right?"

"Well, it's not the _same_ bit of space, obviously," Virgil said testily. He looked up as Gordon re-entered. "Here, Gordon," he said. "Your gift."

"For me?" Gordon asked. "Oh, man, I knew that 'no gifts' stuff was crap."

"Only just," Alan said under his breath.

Gordon tore the paper off his canvas. "Oh man, look!" The canvas was a uniform aquamarine color. "The sea. I love the sea."

"You see? You see?" Virgil said triumphantly. "Someone likes my stuff. Someone has taste."

Gordon fetched a pair of scissors and some glue.

"What about me?" Scott asked.

"You get a song."

"A song," Scott repeated blankly.

"I made something for everybody. You got a song. You wanna hear it or not?"

"Can't wait," Scott said dubiously.

Virgil crossed to the piano and put down some dark dramatic chords. His face scrunched up.

"_Got me a brother…,"_ he wailed loudly in falsetto, "_I got me a brother….brother's a psycho…."_

Gordon hunkered down happily and began to cut fish shapes out of the wrapping paper.

"…_gave me a shot-gun….sent me to pris…o…on…"_

Gordon stuck a fish onto the picture.

"…_sent me to prison….to rescue my brother…"_

Jeff stirred a little. Scott poured a little more whisky down his throat.

"…_.brother was rescued….from pan to the fi-yah…"_

Gordon stuck more fishes onto his picture and drew some wavy lines around them. Scott, John, Tin-Tin and Alan gathered around to admire his handiwork.

"…_brother's a psycho….oh yes, he's a psycho…."_

There was a polite ripple of applause. Virgil glared at them. "There's another verse." He shook his head. "Philistines," he muttered and thundered down another chord.

"…_had me an island….yeah, had me an island…"_

The others sighed. Curiosity got the better of John. "What did you give Tin-Tin that got her so excited?" he asked Scott, _sotto voce_.

"A note for a six-some," Scott whispered back.

"…_island so peaceful…island so lonely…"_

John shook his head. "Alan'll never go for it. And he'll never believe _you'd_ go for it."

"…_island so lonely…island so lovely…"_

Scott smirked. "I'm making it my mission."

"…_men came with diggers…dug up my island…"_

"You know what Alan's like. 'She's my best friend. It would be like sleeping with my sister'." John did a passable impression of Alan whining

"…_he built him a villa…wiped out my lifestyle…"_

"Do you call that acting?" Scott asked peevishly. "And what was that whole 'cousin Brains' thing?"

"I didn't ask to have to impersonate Brains' non-existent relative. That was your idea, remember? And I _hate_ this hair color."

"…_brother's a psycho….yeah, brother's a psycho…"_

"Whatever." Scott glanced at Tin-Tin. "She's beginning to take it personally. He's the only one of us who's refused to sleep with her. None of the rest of us played that hard to get."

"You were positively easy, I recall."

Virgil played the coda with a flourish. Scott and John looked up to join the half-hearted murmurs of appreciation.

"Where's Tin-Tin's present?" Gordon asked Virgil.

"That's okay," Tin-Tin said hastily. "Gordon. What did you get me?"

Gordon put down his scissors long enough to reach under the tree. "Here you go, honey."

He brought out a couple of parcels. "And Alan, while I'm under here, here's yours."

Tin-Tin tore the paper off her box. "A food processor," she said darkly. "My father will love it."

Alan held up a pair of jeans, puzzled. "Aren't these yours?"

"Not now," Gordon said smugly.

"I hate being the youngest. I get nothing but hand-me-downs," Alan grumbled.

"So you won't be wanting my gift?" Scott asked, waving a key lazily.

Alan brightened. "Your lambo? Really?"

"One careful owner. Course, you'll have to knock the dents out of the back. John," he continued hastily before Alan worked out that there was nowhere to drive on the island, "…this is something for you. Actually, this is three somethings for you. Don't say I don't spoil you."

John opened the package. "The 'Little Book of Solitaire', 'The Little Book of Auto-Erotica', and a year's supply of black hair dye." He glanced across at his slumbering father. "Gee thanks, Scott."

"Don't mention it."

"Here's another one for John," Alan said from his position under the tree. He looked at the label. "From Gordon."

John opened his next package, a DVD. "Wow. World's Worst Bush Fires 3. This is more like it. You're the best, kid." He pressed it to his heart.

Gordon smiled smugly. "You'll need some entertainment where you're going."

Virgil squinted at the dwindling pile of gifts. "Don't see anything much from you here, Alan," he noted.

"You're going to be eating it later," Alan said sourly.

"What? You bought Christmas dinner? You think that counts?"

"Sure it counts. If it was left to you, we'd be eating stewed ferns and smoking pot tonight."

"_I_ have presents," Tin-Tin announced archly.

The brothers tried to look enthusiastic as she passed them around.

"_Contrabande_," Gordon said, holding up a bottle.

"Tin-Tin," Alan said sternly. "I didn't think you'd stoop to smuggling."

"No. _Contrabande_. The name of the perfu….ah, ah, aftershave." Gordon took a sniff. "Nice, Tin. If a little…er, girly."

"Oh, in that case, if you don't want it,' she said crossly, snatching it back.

Scott waved a little red tank top number, a quizzical expression on his face.

"What?" she snapped. "It goes with your eyes."

"Don't think it's quite my size."

"Then slim down. I'll keep it for you for now, if you like."

"Well there's an idea I'd never have thought of."

Alan, Gordon and Virgil duly returned their gifts to Tin-Tin for safekeeping.

Gordon finished sticking fishes onto his picture. He rolled up the remains of the wrapping paper into a ball and tossed it into the cat basket, where five delighted kittens tore it to shreds in seconds. He handed the picture to Virgil. "There you go."

"There I go what?"

"Your gift. I have a picture for you, too," Gordon said to Scott, handing him a parcel.

Scott unwrapped the picture. "Well, what do you know, it's a picture. What a surprise," he said flatly. "And it's a picture of…of…who is this, Gordon?"

"Mom, Scott. It's a photo of Mom."

Scott frowned. "Don't be silly. This woman must be almost fifty."

"That's because it was taken last week."

Scott looked at him blankly. "Thank you, Gordon," he said after a moment, turning to John and waving a finger in a circular motion near his temple. He put the photo down on the floor and surreptitiously moved it under the sofa with his foot. He motioned to the tree. "There's a pack of Cubans under there for Virg."

Virgil brightened instantly.

"What about me?" Gordon asked.

"Last one under the tree there," Scott observed.

Gordon unwrapped it gleefully. "Poker for Dummies. Thanks, Scott."

"Read and learn. I have one last gift for everyone."

The brothers' eyes swivelled to the large duffel bags. Alan reached out a hand and dragged one closer.

"Go ahead," Scott advised. "I got them as a job lot, so there's actually a round dozen, but it's always good to have a few spares lying around."

"Spare what?" Virgil asked, his curiosity piqued.

Alan unzipped one of the bags, and frowning, dug a hand in. He tugged hard, and came out with a semi-automatic.

"Uzis. You bought us carbines for Christmas?" Something else occurred to him. "Wait a minute…you had me run _guns_ for you?"

Gordon crossed his arms.

Virgil was confounded. "What could we possibly need Uzis for?"

"You had me running _guns_?" Alan's voice rose to a squeak. "I could have been arrested!"

Scott ignored him. "You never know when they'll come in handy."

"For what? Shooting seagulls?"

"I was thinking of the rescues, Virg."

"Oh, the rescues. Silly me. So, first we rescue people. Then we mow them down in a hail of bullets. What happened to the all new altruistic Scott Tracy?"

"No, no, no. We won't mow them down. But people might get violent. Maybe not everyone will _want_ to be rescued."

"Like suicides," Gordon said.

"And maybe some of these people need to be rescued from _other_ people."

"Like cannibals," Gordon put in helpfully.

"So just in case there are misunderstandings…I want us to be prepared."

"Like Boy Scouts," Gordon said.

"Just like Boy Scouts," Scott confirmed.

Virgil and John stared at him sourly. "What kind of a rescue business is this going to be?" Virgil asked.

"Our kind, brother, our kind."

"I knew it," Virgil said sourly. "I just knew it. _Dammit_."

"Cheer up, Virg. Eggnog?"

Virgil contemplated for a moment and held out a glass.

"That's more like it," Scott said cheerfully. "What could be better than Christmas with family? Alcohol, gifts, and a sleeping Santa."

The group glanced over towards Jeff. He snored a little more.

"Did any of you get your father a gift?" Tin-Tin asked innocently.

The group looked at one another.

Scott gathered up some wrapping paper and scattered it around his feet. "He won't wake up till tomorrow," he observed. "He'll never remember he didn't open anything."

Five young men and one young woman raised their glasses. "Happy Christmas everyone."

…

And Happy Holiday to you all.

…


End file.
